I'm having A Day. First of all, I had a sewing class last night and my husband had a UNIX class, and when I got home the babysitter needed a ride home and my husband was in what is, for him, an EXTREMELY rare bad mood - his class was a disaster of miscommunications and mess-ups. So he rages that he's still got homework to do and he isn't going to put any of the kids to bed NOR is he going to take the babysitter home and so just DEAL. (While I was listening to his rant about the class and the Internet worm that had hit the SQL Server at work [and I very nobly refrained from mentioning that I had mentioned that it was happening AS it was happening], the babysitter God bless her quietly took the last child up to bed.) So, I got to bed about 10:30 and couldn't get to sleep, and then the alarm went off at 3:30 as usual. So, I'm starting the day grumpy and tired.

Then Number Two daughter had a diaper leak and I had to change the crib sheets and scrape together a load of laundry to wash them. Then she peed in the potty, declared herself done, and then promptly peed on ME while I was manuevering her back to the diaper table to put a clean one on her. ARGH. Change the clothes, decide that since it's so 'fresh' they can just go into the load already halfway through the wash cycle.

She then goes into the playroom and promptly HITS the baby on the top of the head with a plastic piano screaming, "NO, you don't use my toys!" All three of us are screaming. Not a good start to the morning.

I get everybody's toast together and Eldest Daughter suddenly looks up at me with great serious eyes and says, "I don't like toast with butter AND honey, mommy, I just only wanted honey." Eat the toast, !NO!, eat the toast, !NO!, eat the toast, !NO!, OKAY FINE IT'S A LONG TIME UNTIL LUNCH AND I DON'T WANNA HEAR A WORD ABOUT HOW STARVING YOU ARE!!!!! <pause> <sob, sob, sob> AND STOP THAT CRYING!

Then the library's automated system calls to tell me my husband's books on tape order is in. Their message takes eight minutes to go through it's entire run. If you hang up, it weirdly does not disconnect them! If you pick up the phone any time up to that eight minutes after you initially answer, it will still be there like a computerized stalker. They call back three times. I am starting to feel like screaming at a computer to leave me alone or I'm calling the police!

Then my manicurist, who cannot seem to understand the concept that I am not free to come on in any old time, calls and says she has to reschedule my appointment, moving it from Friday to another day...like, how about tomorrow. I think some snippy thoughts about how hard it is, really, to understand that a woman who has three (3) non-school-aged children at home cannot just traipse on in for a nail appointment any old time and say, "Well, I'll try and see if I can get a sitter but I tell you what, I doubt I can do it that fast."

I know full d@mned well I can't get a sitter on that short a notice. And guess what? The next time I have scheduled childcare is three weeks from now. That's right! My appointment will have to be pushed back three weeks before I will have enough time to come in for a fill.

Phone rings, it's a friend who needs money. I tell her I don't have any but I've heard the gummint is giving it away wholesale to anybody who isn't me. She tells me I'm sounding grumpy and I tell her she's got it in one. We gossip about our men for a little while and ring off.

Eldest daughter suddenly goes into a screaming fit of excitement because she's won her Rugrats game and wakes up both the napping children. I almost want to hit her, but console myself with the thought that now maybe the two younger horrors might go to bed earlier than usual.

The doorbell rings, and I go and peek out the window sash and see a guy standing on my porch that I think is my neighbor from up the street - I'm thinking, "Uh oh, I hope one of their kids hasn't gone missing again" (they've run off a couple times and hid, scaring their poor mother witless). Nope, it's a guy with American Blah blah blah marketing services ma'am have you heard of our non-profit...

I don't exactly slam the door on him, but it closes PDQ with a mutter about dinner being on the table and can't leave the baby alone with food. As I'm shooting the second bolt home on the door and thinking, "Great, just great, I'm opening the door to salesmen, I've gotta get a close look at the d@mned neighbor of mine some time!" I hear a piercing scream from the kitchen. The baby is holding her hand and screaming in extreme misery and Middle Child is looking guilty and is hiding her fork behind her back. I decide that I am running away from home just as soon as I can arrange childcare and take the fork away from Middle Child, who then screams and cries and throws her spoon at me.

I want to go home. Oh wait, I am home. I want to go to somebody ELSE'S home.

Oh well. At least I've got some good India Pale Ale cold in the fridge. In another hour I can start getting the little terrorists off to bed and work on my mood. In the meantime, I'm going to read some of the boards and try not to be pissy with people.

Onward!Tamarian...typing to you with a squirming baby on my lap pounding on the keyboard we've put out there for the purpose...